


Perceive and Deceive

by williamastankova



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ALLEGEDLY, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fights, First Kiss, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, No Strings Attached, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Steve and Bucky start having sex every time they watch a movie; it's just something they don't talk about.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov (mentioned), James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 17
Kudos: 275





	Perceive and Deceive

They've got this thing now, a designated movie night every week (loosely speaking, that is; it usually depends on whether or not they're on a mission). It's meant to be a relaxing sort of thing, where they can simultaneously unwind and catch up on the seventy years of film and media they've missed out on. And that's all it is, for a while. 

It's around the sixth week, and they've planned to watch American Psycho. Steve was wary when Bucky suggested this film, not particularly fond of what he's heard, but he finally caves when Bucky does the 'stop babying me' look, and employs the contradictory kicked puppy-dog eyes that win Steve over every time. There's just something about his friend that he can't ever seem to say no to.

And so, against his better judgement, on Friday night they sit down in their shared living room, the apartment Nick's encouraged Steve to let Bucky stay in while he recovers - like he'd ever refuse to house Bucky. Steve reluctantly brings the film, Bucky brings the snacks. They have a tasteful assortment of treats, covering all bases: popcorn to sour sweets. It's actually exciting, and not in the life-or-death way they've become so accustomed to.

"C'mon," Bucky implores as he races back from the bathroom, hearing the introductory music sound, "You're gonna miss the set-up! That's the most important part."

"That it is, my friend," is all Steve responds to Bucky's whining, all but launching himself into the couch beside Bucky, settling in for an enjoyable film experience. He reaches for the snacks, and the watching begins.

And, to be honest, it's good. It's very good, actually, and despite his initial wariness of the plot, he has to admit that it's really quite gripping. There's even points where he's literally on the edge of his seat, which he'd always just figured was something people said that had no basis, but apparently it's a real thing.

They hit the half-way point when Bucky tells Steve that he's going to go to the bathroom, and stands up to leave. Out of respect, Steve reaches over to pause the movie, waiting for his friend to return. He picked a bad moment to leave, Steve thinks: things have just started to properly pick up speed! Still, he acknowledges, when you gotta go, you gotta go. 

Trying not to demonise the man too abruptly, he spends the time picking some stray fluff off his jogging pants. It seems an age before Bucky returns, but as soon as Steve knows he can see the screen, he hits play.

He's so engrossed, it's barely even an afterthought to him that Bucky hasn't sat down yet. It's been a good twenty or thirty seconds, and only then does the weight press down in the couch beside him. Steve's leaning forward, focused wholly on the film, but suddenly a hand plants itself on the very centre of his chest and begins to push him on his back.

Confused, he tears his eyes from the screen to Bucky. There's an expression painted on the man's handsome features he's never seen before, something akin to want, but it couldn't be - could it?

Yes, evidently, it could. Steve'd never have thought it possible, something out of a dream (nightmare? He wasn't sure at the minute), but there they were, two best friends, sat in their living room watching American Psycho, with Bucky's darkened eyes glued to his lips. He tries to resist the urge, but he can't: he sucks in a sharp, nervous breath. The film was long forgotten in the tension of this moment.

The world stops. Steve's breathing terminates, or at least he thinks it does. The only thing that he's sure of now is that Bucky's coming closer, drawing nearer, and he's not sure how or why this is happening.

Sure, he can admit he's thought about it. It's never in-depth, far from a well-developed fantasy that he returns to in his lowest, darkest moments, plagued by brutal desire. It's just a thought, every so often, about how attractive Bucky is, how lucky Steve is to call him his best friend. Some part of him might want more, but the fleeting flashes of images suffice, sate him. He's never thought this would actually happen.

This has happened twice in his life, and never like this. The only two people he's kissed were women, all soft and hairless, curvaceous. They were also related, which is an issue for another day. Bucky, on the other hand, is... well, he's _Bucky_. His best friend Bucky, Bucky that always inexplicably took him under his wing, treated him like a brother, cared for him when he was ill. This isn't some random, nice-but-unfamiliar lady he's just met; this is serious.

He can't feel him yet, but he suspects that Bucky's skin will feel nothing like Sharon's or Peggy's. His lips might be similar in softness, but he's undeniably a man, and a masculine man at that. He's been growing out his hair lately, and that includes his five o'clock shadow.

He realises just a split second before their lips touch what this might mean, what it might change. He thinks that maybe he should stop them, should tell Bucky this is wrong or risky or _something_ , but he doesn't. He can't bring himself to resist the gentle brush of lips, the rough but surprisingly delightful feeling of Bucky's stubble rubbing against his own. It's strange, but it works. That's just them.

It turns quickly. For one second only, they're two cautious friends, kissing tentatively like it's an experiment and they're fifteen again. The next, they're ravenous, long-time lovers that can't get enough of each other. It's unspoken, no orders given whatsoever, but Steve immediately begins to fumble with his shirt while Bucky tugs at his own, trying to get it over his head as quickly as possible.

The only coherent thought running through his head is _what the hell is happening?_ , which is soon followed by _I don't really give a fuck_. How could he dare question what was happening when it was something so delightful as this?

Bucky's movements are becoming increasingly animalistic, each so purposeful yet deprived. As soon as he gets his shirt over his head, he's back on Steve, not caring that the man is still struggling with undressing himself. Steve can feel the hot, exposed flesh of Bucky's chest pressing desperately against the inches of his own that are bared to the air. He has to force Bucky back for a second to be able to properly remove his shirt, but after that they're back on the same page.

There's the buzzing of the film's noise in the background and what sounds like someone possibly getting murdered. Steve doesn't care; something much more entertaining is happening now, and this is real. He relishes in the alien feeling of Bucky pressing into him, laying him back forcefully, clambering atop him and grinding unashamedly on his lap. 

The man is a sight for sore eyes. Like this - with his long, dark hair loose and wild, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parting, promising a moan - is the best Steve thinks he's ever looked. For this reason and this reason only, he lets Bucky manhandle him, hands gripping the back of his neck and moving his head where he wants him.

Bucky's tongue is demanding in his mouth, like it's come alive to search for something it can't quite reach within Steve. Their breathing quickens, Bucky's hand drops to grasp at him through his jogging pants, and Steve gives in, letting out the first clearly-audible moan of the evening.

It should feel like a loss, he figures, but with everything that Bucky gives him after that, he couldn't ever feel like anything but a winner.

-

They don't talk about it. This rendezvous ends, they clean up roughly, and go back to watching the end of the film. The plot, which Steve was once thoroughly interested in, has gone straight over his head. He doesn't ask, and neither does Bucky. They sit apart.

Strangely, though, nothing changes. He'd figured, whilst panicking in his mind, that this was going to ruin their friendship forever, the fact that they'd just grinded and groped each other to orgasm, but it really doesn't. It's not like it makes it better, either, though: things are just exactly the same as they've always been.

He thinks this is for the best. Over the next week, he draws the conclusion that it's definitely not the worst case scenario. Maybe it's not normal, to have seen your best friend of seventy years as he climaxes, but he figures that if nothing's changed, that's a silver lining. Still, there's a part of him that gnaws at him, telling him that he wants it to happen again. Why can't it happen again? He wants it to.

His wish is granted exactly seven days later, on the next Friday. They settle in to watch The Silence of the Lambs (again, not Steve's first choice, but Bucky had insisted) and then, after expectant glances from both of them and not twenty minutes into the film, it happens again.

As soon as he sees Bucky leaning in this time, he hurries to meet him half-way. It makes for an initially awkward kiss, clashing teeth and bumping noses, but they laugh it off as friends do and continue just as they did last time. He undresses himself, and Bucky follows suit. That's just how it works now, apparently: nothing too intimate before they have sex.

Things continue like this for a couple of weeks. They try not to mention the movie nights much to the others, not wanting to raise too many flags, but one day it just slips out. Steve winces when he realises what he's said, but knows he can't take it back. Time to improvise.

"Movie night?" Sam quirks an eyebrow, "I didn't know you guys had movie nights."

"Hey, where's my invite?" Natasha teases, casting her eyes between the two of them, the corner of her lips tilted upward in a typically-her fashion. She mocks further, putting her hands on her hips like a mother scolding her disobedient children.

"Oh, it's nothing," Steve tries to play it off, eyes locking on Bucky's, urging him to say something along the same lines.

"Yeah, it's nothing," he repeats, nodding along, forcing his eyes to Natasha, "Actually, we don't even do it anymore."

"But you just said 'we should watch that next time'," Sam remarks, never one to miss a thing. Steve curses him silently, willing the man to be just a little less observant when it comes to things like this, when it's so very embarrassing to him.

This comment stumps the pair of them. Natasha and Sam share a look like they've won, like they're proud of outing their friends' lie like this, and then their sadistic gazes simultaneously return to Bucky and Steve. They don't even need to question what they're going to say next, as though it's destiny they're going to ask it.

"Can we come?"

It's Steve and Bucky's turn to look at each other now. Steve sees Bucky's eyes are blown wide, full-capacity, and he's obviously trying to avoid shaking his head violently at him. Steve feels just about the same, but he has to find a kinder way to put it to Sam and Nat so as to keep their friendship.

He reluctantly faces them again, lips parting, excuse wheel whirring in his head. Nothing seems good enough, nothing able to reason why two more friends wouldn't be able to join them for movie night. He supposes he could tell them the truth, but then again he really, really can't.

"Hey, did you guys hear back from Tony yet?" He diverts the topic without giving a straight answer, "He said he'd call by eight, right?"

He checks the clock on the wall, giving him a reason to stop looking into the judgemental eyes of his friends, and his words earn a dissatisfied groan from Nat. He doesn't even have to look at to know she's rolling her eyes at him.

"Nice deflection, Rogers," she remarks, but thankfully lets him off the hook, at least for now.

\- 

After this escapade, he knows they should probably stop. The only way to get Nat and Sam off their backs is if they actually let them come to one of their movie nights, but considering 'movie nights' has now become synonymous with 'making out then screwing whilst a movie plays distantly in the background', he's not sure they're quite ready for that at the minute.

He feels weak, at the beck and call of his own body. Bucky kisses him, and he instantly vows to do anything for the man. It's childish, really, is what it is. He should do better than this: he's a super-soldier, after all, and he's been trained to disregard personal desire for the greater good, but for some reason he just can't. Not here, can't reject this. Could never reject Bucky.

Against the screaming advice of every inch of himself, Steve lets it go on. And still, as it goes on, it gets worse. Each week, they spend less and less time actually watching the film, until one week Bucky barely waits to let him press play before he's jumping on him, kissing his neck hotly, pressing every inch of himself against Steve's back. 

It's unbearable. Unlike the first few times, he finds himself less and less able to resist Bucky, until it hits a point where he finally feels like a sex-robot or something. The worst part is he's not just inclined to touch the man when he's allowed to, when the film's playing and they're safe and undisturbed, but everywhere. No matter where they are, no matter who they're with, he wants to crowd up against Bucky and show him exactly how badly he wants him, all of the time. It's dangerous.

He thinks he manages to play it off cool, at least for the most part, until one day Tony calls him out on it, and calls him out hard.

"So, you and Barnes, eh?" Tony slaps him hard on the shoulder, though Steve thinks it's supposed to be a friendly pat. It feels the same to him, anyways. "How'd that finally end up happening?"

Steve can only quirk an eyebrow in response. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Tony speaks nice and slowly, as though reciting the alphabet to a learning toddler, all whilst having a look of 'come on, you can do this' on his face, "You and Barnes, together. Boyfriends, partners, whatever you're calling it."

"Oh," Steve scoffs, shaking his head as he fumbles about in the fridge for drinks. He tells himself the question doesn't make him anxious, "We aren't calling it anything. It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Tony repeats incredulously, still stood behind him, undoubtedly crossing his arms, "Natasha said you two've been sleeping together for weeks. What, is it like a friends with benefits situation?"

"It's not any sort of a situation," Steve insists, withdrawing his head and arms from the fridge, now carrying as many drinks as he can hold as he responds to Tony, "We're not in a situation. End of."

"C'mon, kid," Tony speaks like he's trying to bribe Steve into buying some nefarious items, a stereotypical pusher, "You don't have to lie to me, you know. I know we've had our differences, but there's money riding on this - some serious money!"

 _Money?_ Steve wants to ask, but he knows that'd only prolong this exhausting conversation-turned-tragedy, so he decides to just drop it and walk off, ignoring Tony's request of 'well at least tell me when it happened!' as he leaves.

-

Things are awkward after that. They should have been long before Tony's intervention, but they weren't. Steve curses Tony, blames him for the tension in the air when he and Bucky are next alone. Even when they're with the rest, listening to Clint and Natasha bicker or Tony explain their next moves to them, whenever Steve catches Bucky's eye accidentally he averts his gaze, pulse raising, the sound of blood pumping drowning out all other noise. It's risky; he can't focus on a single goddamn thing, not even the plan for their next mission.

He wants to deal with this, he really does. He just doesn't know how to go about it without totally ruining things with Bucky; it's hardly like he can ask out of the blue, 'hey, Bucky, I know we've got this unspoken thing going on now that's actually really good, but do you mind slapping a label on what we have? Tony'd really appreciate it'. Every time he gets close to bringing it up, he shakes his head, ridding himself of the blasted thought. Foolish. How could he?

Still, it's there. The sensation gnaws at him, urges that he does something about this, but he doesn't. Instead, he spends each week waiting, pining for Bucky, letting himself look occasionally but never touch, until movie night rolls around and he lets it all out. Repeat.

Even with this inner turmoil going on, he can still appreciate the good bits. It's hardly like fucking has ruined every aspect of their relationship; they're still friends, for God's sake. He finds this when, one day, Bucky cracks a stupid joke and he laughs himself silly, like the good old days. This is just the medicine to get him out of his blinded pit.

"Come on," Bucky nudges his shoulder, almost knocking him out of his seat at the breakfast bar, "You've got to admit that's funny."

Steve wants to play hard to get, wants to put on a poker face and make Bucky work for his compliments, but he just can't. As he goes to sip water from his glass, the jest hits him all at once, a second wave of pure euphoria, and he almost chokes to death on it.

"See! I told you it was," Bucky proclaims, smirking, gratified. He slaps Steve hard on the back once, going around the other side of the breakfast bar, reaching for the handle on the fridge door and rummaging around a bit. He's still speaking, but all Steve picks up from it is one distinct word: "Grandpa."

He lets himself smile, looking adoringly at Bucky while he can't see him. This is different, though, and he recognises this: no longer is the overwhelming feeling of needing Bucky, wanting to profess his love or whatever this is. This, right here and now, is pure, unadulterated friendship. And, as it blossoms in Steve's chest, it feels beautiful.

Maybe, he reasons with himself in his head, they'll never be more than this. Maybe they'll never move past this unnamed stage, where they're friends but occasionally something more. And maybe that does tear part of him to shreds, but the other part of him says that's good. That's enough for him, if he can just be with Bucky, however that may be. This is enough.

As Bucky fishes whatever he's looking for out of the fridge, he turns back and smiles goofily at Steve, like the child he once knew, and phantom flowers sweeten the air around them.

-

Being friends that live together comes with its down-sides. Unfortunately, it's not all just laughing and screwing for them; there's times like these, too.

He doesn't hate Bucky. In no capacity would he ever conceive that: he's seen the man at his worst, and still considers him his best friend in the whole world. Though this is true, he also has to acknowledge that Bucky can be a complete, incompetent, inconsiderate asshole sometimes.

"How could you do that?" He yells after Bucky, not bothering to keep his tone down, far from fretting about people nearby. He throws his shield down onto the couch, almost piercing the leather, not caring in the slightest, "How could you be such an idiot, Buck?"

Bucky's been ignoring him the whole way back from their mission. It'd been them, as well as Nat and Wanda this time - just the four of them. It was meant to be a relatively simple task, which was why Tony hadn't sent out the whole team to do it: it was just locating and stopping a truck with a stolen item in it. Nothing too difficult at all, at least on the tin.

And yet, Bucky had gone and somehow almost gotten himself killed.

"I can't believe you did that," he continues his complaints, though they seem to fall on deaf ears; he needs to rant about this somewhere, to someone. "You could have died, Buck! What were you thinking, jumping in the road like that? If Nat hadn't pushed you out the way-"

He can't finish that sentence, and apparently Bucky doesn't want him to. In the quickest of flashes, before he's even blinked his eyes, Bucky's spun around on his heel and shoved him up against the nearest wall, eyes peering into Steve's past some stray hairs that've fallen out of his ponytail.

"Shut. Up."

Bucky's order is deliberate, voice not joking in the slightest, but Steve isn't going to be stopped that easily. After all, Bucky had almost lost his life out there, did he really expect to get away so lightly? What, just because he shoved Steve back a bit? Yeah, fat chance.

"Don't tell me to shut up," Steve spits back, earning narrowed eyes from Bucky, "Do you know what could have happened out there? Do you know how serious this is, Buck? This isn't a fucking game; this is your life."

Bucky grunts, looks like he's going to retreat, but forces himself to stay and keep his eyes locked on Steve's. This is a staring match.

"I was too far away," Steve knows he's starting to monologue, that the spite that had been dripping from his tongue just seconds ago has begun to fade to sadness, but can't stop himself now. "If something would've- we were listening the whole time, Buck. If Nat had been just two seconds later, you'd have... we'd have been listening, you know."

Bucky seems to ponder upon this note for a moment, before finally speaking again, releasing the force on Steve's chest just a little, either subconsciously or otherwise. He gives the plain answer of, "Yeah, well, she wasn't."

 _Good job and all,_ Steve thinks but doesn't say. He just sighs, letting his head fall back against the wall, defeated.

This is a mistake. He senses the mood in the room shift as he exposes his neck, the tight, blue material of his suit still taut around his body, muscles well on show. It's not on purpose, though it might seem like it to an outsider. Or to Bucky.

He realises his mistake just seconds later, and by the time he pulls his head up-right again, resting properly on his shoulders, he comes to find Bucky staring at him with an intensity that's different than the one that was there prior. His mouth suddenly runs dry, parched as a man stranded in a desert for weeks without water, but he can't do anything about it for fear of flicking whatever switch is being offered to him right now.

They've done this before. This is nothing new, seeing this look in Bucky's eyes; it's the look he sees every time he hits play on the movie, but tonight's not one of those nights. It's Tuesday, and they don't have a film scheduled til Friday again, as always. So what's this? What is happening?

No answer comes. The blackness of Bucky's eyes fades away as quickly as it had appeared, and then he's shoving away from Steve roughly, grunting something unintelligible like a caveman and retreating to the bathroom.

Coward.

-

Friday comes and goes: nothing. They still interact, make casual conversation, attend Avengers team meetings when they're called, but nothing more. They don't touch, don't kiss, none of it. 

It's driving Steve absolutely up the walls.

Perhaps, he thinks, he should just take the matter into his own hands. He's said it before and he'll say it again: there's next to nothing he's afraid of when it comes to Bucky. Despite this, it appears that rejection is still one of those few things he fears, and so he avoids the topic at all costs.

There are no more films. He's fairly certain they're on the same page about that one: films means touching, touching means kissing, and kissing means sex, and there's no sex to be had in the foreseeable future. That much seems to be abundantly clear, though it's unspoken.

Bucky disappears one night. Knowing Steve's one to panic, he leaves a civil yet kind in its own way note on the breakfast bar: _gone out; don't wait up._ Steve swallows hard when he reads it, because that can only mean one thing. It means Bucky has finally given up waiting for Steve to break, and he needs to get laid. He's gone out to meet someone, some randomer (or, even worse, one of their friends) for a casual hook-up, and possibly more. 

That's fine. It really is fine, to be honest, because Steve has no good reason to care. It's not like they're together or anything, right? They'd never put a label on it before. Why start now?

Maybe if Bucky's going out, he should go out somewhere, too. He scratches the back of his head, trying to think of locations nearby that he could hang out and potentially meet somebody to have some fun with. Coming up short, almost definitely due to his total lack of a social life outside of the Avengers, he finally reaches into his pocket and calls up the first - no, second - interesting person he can think of.

It rings a few times, making him just minorly afraid that there'll be no answer, but after the forth loop of the ringtone, the other line finally picks up.

"Hey," Nat says on the other end of the phone, collected as always, "You doing alright?"

"I- yeah," he settles on, then furrows his brow (which she thankfully can't see) and asks, "Do you want to go out?"

The other end falls silent for a brief moment, and Steve can practically hear the cogs turning in her head. She's clever - almost too clever for her own good, and certainly too clever for the good of everyone around her. He swallows nervously.

"Sure," she finally responds, short and sweet, though he knows she's going to have plenty of more questions for him when they meet, "I'll see you in half an hour."

It's not a question, but Steve doesn't mind. Half an hour seems perfect to him.

-

He cleans up a little, tries not to over-do it but still makes an effort to look nice, just in case he does end up meeting somebody while they're out. True to her word, Nat knocks on the door to his and Bucky's apartment exactly thirty minutes after their call ends, and the pair of them head out.

She recommends a quirky, low-key bar nearby, and they set off. They pay their way in, and Nat offers to get the first round of drinks while Steve finds them a seat somewhere.

It's hard at first, with the place being surprisingly full for how Nat had described it, but finally after much searching he locates a high table with two less-than-sturdy looking chairs. He shrugs, figuring it'll do and if Nat's not happy, she can find them somewhere else. He takes his seat and waits for her to arrive.

This takes longer than he had anticipated. The bar itself hadn't looked that busy, and the bartender hardly looked overrun - if anything, Steve'd say he looked bored. Nat can't be taking this long for no reason.

While he waits, he fumbles about with his phone, slipping it from his pocket and swiping aimlessly to look occupied. This doesn't work for long, because before he even registers there's somebody stood beside him, they're speaking loudly into his ear, making him jump.

"You look enthralled," a deep, male voice speaks, almost sending his phone flying out of his hand with how it startles him, "You here alone?"

Steve's gaze shoots up to the man's: he's tall, probably 6"2 or so, similar to Steve. He's got tan skin, some ambiguous ethnicity that Steve can't quite pinpoint, but there's no accent to be detected from his words. He has dark, almost black hair, cropped and styled to rest just below his ears. His outfit is, for lack of a better term, trendy. Steve clears his throat.

"Uh, no," he shakes his head, "Not alone. You?"

"Well, I wasn't," the man laughs breathily, charming smile and shining white teeth revealing themselves behind plump, pink lips, "But my date skipped out on me. Mind if I take a seat for a little while?"

Steve can only nod, because it suddenly hits him how much this man looks like Bucky. It's not Bucky, obviously, and it's not like the resemblance is uncanny, like a secret-twin or doppelganger level, but it's definitely noticeable. Steve can't look away from the man's handsome face; maybe this is just what he needs.

The man shuffles over to occupy the seat across from Steve, which was initially for Natasha - you snooze, you lose, right? He settles himself in, like he plans to be here for a while, slipping off his jacket so Steve can glimpse the strong muscles straining against his tight shirt.

"Darren," he introduces himself coolly, stretching a hand over to shake Steve's, which he accepts but can't help thinking _would Bucky do something like that?_

Darren's confidence shows itself quickly. In the mere minutes it takes for Natasha to return to him, Darren's begun to monologue about his date, his work, how attractive he thinks Steve is, et cetera. At first, Steve thinks the confidence is attractive, but quickly this begins to stale, turning to intolerable cockiness. Bucky never acted like this, never so conceited.

A sharp clearing of a woman's throat stops Darren dead in his tracks, and Steve looks over to his left to see his saviour; his knight in... a black silk shirt.

"Hiya, boys," Nat puts on her usual, charming-yet-somewhat-juvenile voice, like she's about to tease them (which she probably is, knowing her), "Any seats around here for me to take? I'm awful lonely."

Steve's smirk paints itself on his face before he can stop it. Thank God for Natasha Romanov.

"Nat," he calls, and watches as the familiar tone makes Darren quirk a brow and sit a little straighter, "I thought you were never going to come back. What took so long?"

In an instant, Nat's eyes flick across the whole scene, and then her assessment is complete. "Well, I was getting chatted up quite a bit. Doesn't happen much these days; felt kinda nice. You'd better watch your back, mister, or I'll be gone before you know it!"

Natasha's laugh is obviously forced, which he can tell instantly. Darren seems to buy it, though, and realising what's unfolding before him, he's quick to up and start to leave the situation, stuttering and blushing, so unlike himself.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you were-" he doesn't finish the sentence, but Steve knows how it goes. For good measure, he wraps an arm around Nat's waist, pulling her in close. He repeats, "Sorry."

Without another word from his cocky mouth, Darren averts his eyes and all but sprints away from the situation. Nat puts their drinks down and reclaims her seat across the table from Steve.

"Sorry about that," Steve mumbles, not quite embarrassed, more just irritated by the attention he hadn't wanted, that he'd somehow let himself get tangled up in anyways. "You know how it is."

"I sure do," Nat smirks over at him, reaching into her jean pocket and pulling out a slip of paper, sliding it over to him.

 _Emma x_ , it reads, and there's a number printed beneath it. Steve can't help but chuckle.

"You too, huh?" He responds rhetorically, watching as Nat puts the paper back in her pocket for safe-keeping. He's not entirely sure why she does this, but hey, he's not exactly one to judge, is he?

They each take a sip of their drinks - both something that tastes like gin, though Steve doesn't know precisely what it is - and then the interrogation begins.

"So what's up?" She starts off easy, resting her glass on the table before looking Steve straight in the eye, gaze friendly but undeniably intense, "Something happened at home?"

As usual, she's right on the mark. She's dead right: something's happened at home, and it's his fault. He doesn't know how to say it. Still, she persists in her questioning.

"It is about Bucky?" She prompts further, giving him a knowing look, "Lover's quarrel, eh?"

Steve instinctively shakes his head, because no, that's not what it is. He has no right to call Bucky anything even close to that, to a 'lover', because they've never been that, and they never will be. A strange pang hits his chest, almost making him keel over in pain. In response to Nat's question, he just summarises, "We're not lovers."

"Right, obviously," she responds, tone signalling she doesn't quite believe him but still wants him to keep talking, "But it is Bucky, then? What's happened?"

Steve tries to recount all that's happened between him and Bucky that Nat doesn't know about - or, well, that he thinks she doesn't know about; he can never be sure with her. Then, once he's collected these memories, he narrows them down further by which Nat would _want_ to hear about, and then which she _needs_ to hear about, in order to grasp the full story as he sees it. Then, he tells her.

"Wow," she conjures once he's finished, eyebrows rising accordingly, "So that's it, huh?"

"That's it."

"You two are complete morons," she sighs, shaking her head, disappointed. Even so, there's a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, threatening to break this facade she's got going on, "Basically, you and Bucky have been screwing around, and you've gone and fallen in love with him - that is, if you weren't already. He's gone and almost gotten himself killed - a thank you would be nice for me saving him, by the way - and now you've realised how much you need him. But, instead of facing your issues, you've decided to bottle it up and cause a right instead. Am I following you?"

Steve wishes he could argue, wants to interject, but he just can't. Nat's right.

"Well, if you want my advice, try to ease back into things with him," she shrugs lazily, sipping her drink, "You don't want to force anything, but you've got to do something or you'll go mad. Trust me."

"But what if he doesn't want to ease back into things like I do?" Steve queries, "I mean, he's gone out on a date tonight. Maybe that means things are over between us, if there was ever anything in the first place."

She just gives him a pointed look, like she knows something about this that he doesn't, and changes the subject. "Karaoke?"

Steve considers this proposition, and decides that he's going to have to get a lot more drunk to do that.

-

That next morning, he returns around three to Bucky wandering the apartment, looking all tired. He asks Steve where he's been, and Steve slurs something about being out with Natasha. He does not ask about who Bucky's seen and what they've done, because he doesn't want to know. He can't ruin his good mood like that, not now.

Their isolated dance continues for a good week and a half after this encounter. They move about the apartment like they're living in alternate universes, like their souls haven't intertwined at any point in their lifetime. It's absolute agony.

The next week, though, Tony puts them on a covert mission. It's pretty safe, considering there's no actual fighting that's meant to happen, but rather just observation and reporting. They are, verbatim, "not, at any point, to engage with the targets" - a line which Tony delivered with his eyes firmly locked onto Bucky, making him squirm a little in his seat. Somehow, Steve thinks this is his fault.

Just in case, they've got earpieces that're connected to Sam's. If anything goes awry, they're to contact him immediately, and without hesitation he'll be there. It's just a precaution, but Steve has to admit it makes him feel a little better - and not for his own sake.

They show up at the mall in the least characteristic, most basic gear they can find: each of them wears a dark cap to conceal his face, a loose-fitting hoodie and poorly-tailored jeans that rub uncomfortably against his crotch. Steve would complain, but if it works, it works.

They tail the target group - two men, one woman, all suspected Russian spies - for a good half hour without being noticed, but when they all stop at the exact same time, Steve fears they've made a mistake.

"Steve," Bucky calls to him under his breath as he glances in a feigned-casual way around them, hands buried in his pockets, "They're looking right at us."

The panic is evident in Bucky's voice, and he suspects he'd hear it in his own if he were to speak. He knits his brows together, pondering for a moment, then turns assuredly to Bucky, ordering, "Kiss me."

"What?" Bucky responds incredulously, but then his face softens, just a little. "Why?"

"Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable; it'll make them look away," he explains it to Bucky as Nat had done to him all that time ago, then reiterates, "Laugh at something I said and _kiss me_."

Bucky looks like he might argue, face too tense to be convincing, so Steve just does it himself. He blocks Bucky from the spies' view, standing in front of him so they can't see his constipated expression, laughs a bellowing laugh and dips down, touching their lips together, sending a shock-wave around them that would bring Thor to shame.

Bucky's lips are rougher than he remembers, but still feel fantastic to kiss nonetheless. Although they're somewhat chapped, there's still the unmistakable sense that they're _Bucky's_ , and that's more than enough to keep Steve going.

He tries not to let himself selfishly indulge too much, but he finds he hardly has to worry when Bucky finally presses back into him. Initially, he'd planned for this kiss to be a peck, not lasting for longer than it absolutely has to for Bucky's dignity, but it appears Bucky doesn't mind. Really doesn't mind, actually.

His friend presses up into him with such fervour, even Steve's convinced this is real. Bucky's teeth are quick to make their appearance, biting at Steve's lips, making him moan and part them. Not wasting any time, Bucky's tongue slips into his mouth, making short work of kiss him into oblivion and, teaming up with the arms snaking around Steve's neck, they're quick to make Steve's knees feel ready to buckle.

Not in his right mind, Steve's ready to slip his hands from Bucky's face to his head, getting rid of his hat so he can thread his fingers into his long hair and tug him in closer. Thankfully, he stops himself at the last moment, pulling back abruptly and promptly taking Bucky under his arm, walking him away from the spies.

"Are they still looking?" He asks, prompting Bucky to look over their shoulders.

"Well, they are now," he jokes, adding, "and so is everybody else. Good job."

This congratulations makes a flush run down Steve's entire body. He feels it blossom bright pink across his face to begin with, but then it's creeping down his neck, spreading across to his shoulders and then lower. With a quick look over at Bucky, however, he finds his friend isn't much better off, bright red and beautiful.

Still, as has become custom to them, they don't talk about this after the fact, and if Steve lets his hand drop closer to Bucky's, brushing occasionally as they walk back to their apartment... well, he's not going to mention it.

-

Over the next few days, Steve tries to take Natasha's advice. As long as it might take, he firmly believes that patience is a virtue, and so he waits. Opportune moments are few and far between, but he slowly eases back into touching Bucky in a less-than-platonic way.

The first time happens almost by accident. Almost.

They're sat together, beside one another, on the couch. It's a strange feeling, just in and of itself, because they haven't done this since the last time they had movie night. Since then, Steve's been conscious of getting too close to Bucky, putting them in close proximity, for fear of making Bucky feel uncomfortable.

It's the smallest of motions. One second he's scrolling on his phone, texting Nat and Tony and whoever else has decided to message him out of the blue, when he realises he's forgotten to do something minor, something not even worth remembering. 

He makes a little 'oh' sound, and Bucky look up at him from his book - the new form of media he's turned to without their film nights. He smiles gently, making Steve's heart yearn. Now, he decides, is a good of a time as any. 

Summoning every ounce of his bravery, he reaches over and rests his hand on Bucky's thigh, touch lighter than a phantom's, guilty.

"I'll be back," he says absently, fear of what's to come rising in his chest, but Bucky just nods and returns his eyes to his book, clearly entertained and unaffected by Steve's random gesture.

Admittedly a little stumped, Steve excused himself and went on his way, only thinking how strange that all felt, for it to be so natural.

-

The next time, he kicks it up, just a little. Still not wanting to freak Bucky out, he tries to plan ahead this time, figuring what would be an okay step to take and what would most certainly not be.

He lands on the idea about twenty minutes before he actually performs the action, when Bucky announces he's going to shower. And no, it's not like that; that's much, much further down the line, if it's even coming up at all.

No, rather, he waits like an abandoned puppy for the sound of the shower to cease. Knowing Bucky doesn't take his change of clothes in with him, instead preferring to walk in a towel to his bathroom to retrieve them, Steve takes it upon himself to gather the outfit and carry it to the bathroom door, just as it begins to unlock.

Bucky looks startled when he sees Steve stood there, tall and proud. Steve merely smiles, reaching out to give Bucky the stack of clothes in his hands, which are accepted without Bucky ever actually checking what it is he's being handed.

"Thought I'd give you a hand," Steve offers this brief explanation, then steps forward, patting Bucky on his bare back before heading into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He doesn't actually _need_ to do anything in here, except maybe overthink what he's just done. I mean, really? Was it really such a huge step to take to pat your life-long best friend on the shoulder? Yes, apparently, it was, when said best friend was completely naked, save for a thin, navy blue towel wrapped loosely around his hips, hanging, threatening to fall. A tease.

He has to spend moments recollecting himself before he can go back out and face the world again, but when he does he finds Bucky back on the couch, nose in his current book, full dressed. Almost like nothing happened.

-

The next time, he plans for something more intimate. He knows Bucky is okay with touching in general, now, and receives casual touches well, but what if Steve were to make things more... specific? What if Steve was to kiss lightly down his neck, or perhaps bring his hand to rest atop Bucky's plump ass? Wow, he really sounds like an objectifying dick now, doesn't he?

It doesn't matter anyway, though, because his plans are disposed of one night, very early in the morning, when he's unable to sleep.

The creaking of the floorboards outside his room does startle him. How could it not, with all they've been through? With who they are, the best they could hope for in a visitor in the middle of the night is a merciful assassin. And, at the very core of this situation, that's exactly what this is.

This assassin, though, is familiar to Steve. Bucky Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier, stands at his door, peering into his dark room, looking simultaneously asleep where he stands and like he hasn't slept in his lifetime.

"Steve?" His groggy voice breaks into the otherwise silent room. Steve sits up a little, letting Bucky know he's awake, too. "Can I sleep in here?"

There's obvious tension in his voice, like he's afraid to ask such a question. Albeit surprised, Steve finds himself graciously accepting the offer, nodding though Bucky probably can't see, vocalising with a deep, sleepy tone that takes him by surprise, "Of course, Buck."

He shifts from the centre of his bed, giving Bucky space to lie down. Once the door closes, he can't see very much, but he knows Bucky comes to lay beside him because the weight beside him presses the mattress down. He sighs, feeling a great sense of relief. He can't say why exactly this is - maybe because Bucky's finally letting him back in, getting close like this again.

They don't say anything for the longest time. He can sense the energy radiating off of Bucky, signalling that he's probably had a nightmare of some description, but he can't say for sure. He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to force Bucky to relive any bad memories, so he just waits.

If Bucky doesn't want to give an explanation, he won't ask for one. He's finds he's just grateful to have him here, no matter what time of the day or night it is. He'd give up the universe just to have Bucky accept him, lie with him like this. As his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, he takes in the sight beside him, what he can see of Bucky's strong profile, eyes open, hair half-up half-down. It feels like a painting he's been bidding for his entire life, and now he's finally got it.

"I can't remember what they did," Bucky suddenly says, making Steve scramble to figure out where they've started and where they're going. Bucky continues, "HYDRA. Not really, anyway; nothing exact."

That's probably for the best, Steve thinks but doesn't say. He waits, letting Bucky continue if and when he feels ready, watching him all the while.

"I know they messed with my head," he recounts vaguely, then closes his eyes, "I remember them hitting me, shocking me. But everything else... pretty much everything else is gone. And most things before HYDRA, too."

Steve almost winces. He'd thought he could be the rock, the strong one, acting to support Bucky in this terrible time, but he can't. Hearing Bucky talk about the memories he's lost, how much of their relationship he can't even remember, it makes him feel sick. Their youth, the time they spent together - and Lord, they were hardly ever apart; joined at the hip, as his mother often joked - gone.

He clenches his jaw, suppressing as much emotion as he can manage, listening to Bucky as he goes on.

"I only know what I am now, and what I've become..." Bucky gives no further description, no elaboration on what he means by this, but Steve thinks he gets it. He feels the same, too; they're so different to who they used to be, sometimes it's hard to recognise yourself. It's like a different lifetime. "But there's one thing I do remember."

This makes Steve's ears perk up, and for the first time since the start of this conversation, he speaks, broken and desperate as he hums, "What?"

The silence pours back into the room once more as Bucky thinks. His eyes open once more, Steve sees, and his gaze finds Steve's. He holds his eye for a brief moment, before seeking his hand, reaching out to interlace Steve's fingers with his own.

"I remember you," he says plainly, stopping Steve's breathing. "The real you, I mean, not this."

He waves his free hand over Steve's body, gesturing to the muscles, chuckling and making Steve chuckle in turn. "What do you remember, Buck?"

He speaks so gently, whispering, so low he can hardly hear himself. He doesn't know how Bucky understands him, but he does - always does. "I remember us, sitting on the pier. Two little kids, Steve; we were so young. You slipped and I managed to catch your sorry ass before you fell into the water and drowned, but you dropped your ice cream. Your face... I gave you mine instead, told you it wasn't a big deal."

"You spent your last two dollars on those ice creams," Steve joins in, reminiscing, feeling amused and yet awfully guilty for something that happened so very long ago now.

"You bet your ass I did," Bucky's laugh is almost all breath, smile wide, sincere, handsome. His eyes fall back on Steve's, smile freezing, but not slipping an inch. "God, I must've loved you a lot."

This is a bitter-sweet comment. On the one hand, Steve's heart flourishes, singing in seven hundred different voices that harmonise, because Bucky has finally gone and said it. _Love_ , the sprawling word it is, is all out in the open. They've both heard it, but then again it's in past tense. _Loved_ , he had said, like he's not sure about it anymore. Like that time's lost, gone, ruined by the void HYDRA made of Bucky's head.

He swallows hard, but doesn't say anything. After a time, he lays back on the bed, facing the ceiling. No more words are exchanged as they drift off to sleep, absorbing each other's body heat. Is this something Steve will have to pretend hasn't happened, too?

The next morning, Steve awakes first. It takes a moment to remember what happened last night, and when he does he sincerely wishes he hadn't made such an effort. Even so, with this depression sinking in on his chest, he can't be too upset, because he realises soon after that Bucky's head is on his chest, planted right over his heart.

The man has always been a wild sleeper, since they were kids. More often than not, Steve'd stir half way through the night with no blanket, only to look down at Bucky and find the other boy wrapped snugly up, too hot if anything. Now, his hair looks as though he's been electrocuted - no, not that, that was a slip of the tongue. It's all stuck out in different directions, like he'd had a brawl in the night.

He looks positively adorable. Steve's heart wells up, feeling like it might burst, and he reaches over to wrap his arm around Bucky's waist and squeeze him closer.

This action makes Bucky stir, dipping his toes into the real world, then rejecting it in favour of more sleep. Steve can't say he blames him: the real world is hardly his favourite place, either. He decides to let Bucky sleep, thinks he's more than earned it, but presses a kiss to his forehead, hoping Bucky feels it before he retreats back in unconsciousness.

This, by far, is the most intimate thing they've ever done.

-

Things get easier after that. No longer are they afraid to be close, to brush hands or hold each other's eyes. Steve's stopped cowering away from Bucky when he accidentally gets too close, instead lets their skin touch, relishes in the feeling, feels freed.

That's not to say he isn't being eaten away at. He is, thinks he always will be a little, but he figures that, as long as he has Bucky back as his close friend, maybe he doesn't really need for them to constantly be kissing or fucking. Maybe this is enough, the safe distance between their hearts, not letting themselves get too close again.

They go about their normal lives. As always, they exist in their shared space, meeting with the others, going on missions, the works. Things are okay, save for a few suggestive glances from Natasha which he ignores. She can't get in his head now, not when he's finally started to sort it out.

It's one day that everything turns. They're on a mission, in full-uniform now, chasing down the aforementioned Russians. They've got a lethal weapon - not a gun nor a sword or anything of that sort, but a tablet. A tablet with the most important, dangerous instructions on it that have ever existed, ever. And they're not going to destroy it, that much is for sure.

Everybody's out now. They'd all been stationed at various hide-outs, where they knew the Russians might be keeping the tablet. Natasha and Wanda were at one, Bucky and Tony at another, while Steve and Thor were put on the third one. For the longest time, nothing happens, and then it's like the floor crumbles beneath their feet.

One thing happens, then another. He's got the tablet in his arms, having lost his shield some time ago, and then he's jumping, far from everybody else, shutting his eyes tightly and preparing to crash onto the floor. He's alone, he knows, so very alone: everyone else had been stationed apart from him, figuring his was the least likely location for the tablet to be, and yet here he is, tablet in hand, free-falling.

He falls for longer than he'd expected to. It is a long way off the bridge, he supposes, but suddenly he hits something, and hits it hard. It's not the floor, to his surprise; it's a solid object. It's... living and breathing?

"You're an idiot," Bucky scolds, looking him straight in the eye, panting from running to save Steve's stupid life. Still cradling the tablet, Steve really does feel like a moron.

"Thanks," is all he can offer as Bucky drops to his knees and places him on the floor, metal arm whirring, probably due to having to catch a man of such a mass falling from such a height. Bucky just nods, though his face refuses to soften. He wants to say more, to explain or _something_ , but then Natasha's breaking in from over the radio, interrogating him, checking he is, in fact, not splattered on the floor.

-

By the time they get home, he knows a storm is brewing. It just has to be, doesn't it? There's no way Bucky is going to let him go on this one; he's on the hook for good. At least they're even now, he thinks on the bright side: Bucky's almost died on a mission for stupid reasons, and so has he.

When they step foot into their apartment, having given Tony the tablet for safe-keeping (or, ideally, destruction), Steve's expecting to be shoved against the wall and slapped silly. Not because that's what Bucky's like, but because that's exactly what he would do.

In actuality, though, nothing like that happens. Instead, he's allowed to close the door quietly behind them, and when he turns back around Bucky is nowhere in sight. Steve can hear a distant rummaging, like Bucky's going through his wardrobe for something to wear, and he's left completely to his own devices.

With this unexpected free time, he chooses to shuck off the excess clothing he has on, leaving him shoeless, hemletless, in just his tight under-suit. He'll keep some of his dignity, he decides, but he really just needs to relax as much as he can right now. He shuffles over to the couch and throws himself onto it.

Before he even has time to think, he's already started to drift off into sleep. He barely notices as Bucky returns, now donning loose-fitting clothes, jogging pants and a tee. His friend moves around a little but then, even though Steve's got his eyes closed now, it's obvious that he stops dead in his tracks.

Steve doesn't open his eyes. If Bucky has something he wants to say to him, especially regarding his earlier stunt, he can say it to him while he sleeps. Nothing comes. Bucky begins moving again, and Steve merrily trots along to a well-earned rest. 

Just as he feels himself dropping off, however, a weight at the bottom of the couch awakens him. Startled, his eyes almost shoot open, but he knows it's just Bucky, and Bucky wouldn't ever hurt him. Keeping this in mind, his eyes remain shut, unwilling to sacrifice a single millisecond of the peaceful darkness behind his eyes.

A gentle sensation begins at his feet. It takes longer than it should, but Steve finally realises that Bucky is giving him a foot massage. He peels his eyes open to look down at his friend.

"What're you doing?" He asks, voice laden with exhaustion.

"Foot massage," Bucky answers simply, then turns the tables on him, "What were you thinking?"

"Dunno," Steve sighs, rolling onto his back, not feeling awake enough for this conversation. He hopes that's the end of that, but knows it's almost definitely not.

"You could've died," Bucky states the obvious, making Steve quirk an eyebrow at him. The hands are unfailing as they continue to press on his feet, pleasant and relaxing. "I could've lost you."

Steve makes a sound of acknowledgement; he knows what that realisation feels like. Otherwise, he keeps mum.

"Hey, are you listening?" Bucky prompts, thumb pressing in just a little too harshly, making Steve flinch. It doesn't actually _hurt_ , it's just the shock of the action. He gives Bucky his best betrayed face, but doesn't move his feet away. "I don't want you risking yourself like that again, Steve. Okay? Not for the tablet, not for anything."

Steve's heart skips a beat, and his traitorous tongue moves before he can stop it. "Not even for you?"

Bucky goes quiet, looking at him with an expression Steve can't explain, then definitively states, "Not even for me. I'm not worth that, Steve; I'm not worth your life."

"You are," Steve instinctively argues back, reluctantly pulling his feet out of Bucky's grasp to sit cross-legged, facing the man. He repeats, looking closer at Bucky's face now, studying the stern features there, repeating, "Hey, Buck - you _are_."

Bucky's gaze drops, and the man looks like he might dare to disagree with him. Sensing this impending conversation, Steve takes it upon himself to prevent it, or at least postpone it; reaching forward, he takes Bucky's face into his hands, grasping his jaw tightly and bringing Bucky to look back at him. Then, wordlessly, he kisses him.

This is different to any of their previous kisses. It's not driven by lust, nor fear of detection. This kiss is the most meaningful because it has no meaning: they aren't being watched (not to their knowledge, anyways), so this is just for them. Bucky instantly kisses him back.

In this instant, all of his breath is stolen from his lungs. It's not like he needs it anyway, with how complete he feels now. After this, he thinks he could die happy, knowing he's finally figured things out with Bucky. Just a few weeks ago, he'd never have believed they'd do this, and that's what he thinks is called progression and self-betterment.

"Steve," Bucky says, similarly breathless, between peppered kisses, "Steve, wait."

Steve obeys, pulling back, catching Bucky's dark eye as he does so. He shakes his head slightly, in a silent question of 'what's wrong?'. He's ready to accept that he misread the situation, when Bucky's lips break out into a great, sunlight smile as he prepares to speak again.

"I love you," he confesses, dipping back in to kiss Steve once more, and then again, "God, I love you so much."

Stunned, Steve's impressed he manages to get himself to respond intelligibly with, "I love you, too. Always have, Buck."

This proclamation makes Bucky surge forward, grasping at his shoulders, tugging him in now, fearless. And Steve lets him, too, because what else is he going to do? He's never been able to reject Bucky and what the man wants before, so he's hardly going to start now.

He doesn't want to ruin the mood, he really doesn't, but there's just one thing that's still eating away at him. He has to know, and he can't stop himself from asking, pulling away from Bucky just as far as he can manage to do so.

"Who did you see?" He asks, receiving a confused, furrowed brow from Bucky in response. He clarifies, "When you went out, the night I came back late after seeing Natasha. Who did you go to see?"

Bucky's hand absently comes to run along the side of his face, and he sighs as he realises what Steve means. A slight smile picks up the corners of his obviously-kissed lips, "Sam and I went to the cinema. Why, are you jealous or something?"

"No," he responds, knowing he does so too fast and it looks suspicious. He winces, but begins to laugh alongside Bucky at his own stupidity, "Well, okay, maybe I was. A little."

"Stevie," Bucky coos, almost singing his name, "You don't have to worry about anything like that. Not anymore, anyway; you've got me now."

After that, they kiss until the room falls into pitch-black darkness, and only then do they part to rise and turn the lights on. That night is the most peaceful Steve has spent in a long time, and even though they don't hook up then, he's never felt closer to Bucky than in that moment.

-

"Come on, slow-pokes," Nat teases, watching Steve and Bucky fumble about, trying to carry drinks and food for everyone in the next room. She's only got a single bowl in her hands, so she's one to talk. "The film's gonna start without you."

"Coming, coming," Steve calls back, sighing dramatically as he passes her, throwing a smile her way just for good measure.

Bucky pipes up, grasping three bowls and three glasses in his arms in a way that puts Steve sincerely on the edge of sanity as he watches him, "You guys better wait for us, or you ain't getting snacks!"

A groan comes from the lounge area, likely from Sam or Tony, which makes Steve chuckle lightly.

They file into the next room one-by-one, Steve first, then Nat, and last but not least Bucky. There, he sees Sam, Tony, and Bruce all sat down, stretched out to their hearts' content, each looking the picture of comfort. Steve places one of his three glasses, which are full to the brim, in front of each of them. 

"Thanks," Tony immediately reaches for the drink, downing half in one go, "You might want to stay on your feet, grandpa. We're gonna need refills - sooner rather than later."

Steve knows he's teasing, but he's also grateful when Bucky appears with the bottles of various drinks in his hands. He smirks and raises them in the air, saying, "No need."

Catching Bucky's gaze, Steve winks at him in thanks. Bucky just shrugs and plants the drinks on the table while Nat takes her seat beside Bruce, and Steve beside her. Once all is completed, all snacks and drinks laid out on the coffee table, Bucky finally lets himself settle down, clambering over the others to take his rightful place by Steve's side.

Sam, closest to the play button, is automatically the designated 'starter and stopper' - a title Steve thinks he should be proud to have earned. He hits play then returns to his seat, on the edge of the group, and absently casts a look at his friends.

Natasha and Bruce are close, almost but not quite classifiable as cuddling. Her head is on his shoulder, anyway, and it's obvious that in time his hands are going to find their courage and plant themselves on her waist. Steve and Bucky, on the other hand, are less subtle, with Bucky practically laying atop of Steve, exchanging a knowing look, faces flushes just ever-so-slightly.

Sam looks over to Tony, who he finds is already watching him. He just shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, and murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear properly.

"Don't look at me," he tells Tony, nodding to turn the man's attention to the screen, "I ain't kissin' you."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me any stucky prompts over at my tumblr, @samaraclegane :)


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